


Nightingales or something

by Flavortext



Series: GO songfics [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Getting Together, M/M, Other, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), it could be post book or post show its kinda vague, nightingales - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 14:46:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19297885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flavortext/pseuds/Flavortext
Summary: “I thought passions of the flesh were, you know, not your area,” Crowley says.“Crowley, really, I just said it got me thinking. About love.”“Love might be a strong word, for them.”“Really, let me talk.” Aziraphale points a finger at Crowley until he puts his hands up in surrender and sinks back into the couch. Aziraphale straightens in his chair and rests his hands in his lap.“I’ve been thinking about us.”(stand alone)





	Nightingales or something

They do not hear the nightingale sing in Berkeley Square. 

 

“The humans,” 

“Which ones?” 

Aziraphale tuts. 

“The witch and the witchfinder.” 

“Oh, yeah, what about them?” 

“I’m getting there, really dear,”  Aziraphale says, shaking his head. Crowley smirks and sips his wine. “They used, erm, the End, as a... motivation to get together.” 

Crowley blinks. “Yes...Agnes told them too if I recall.” 

“Yes, well, it got me thinking,” 

“I thought passions of the flesh were, you know, not your area,” Crowley says. 

“Crowley, really, I just said it got me  _ thinking. _ About love.” 

“Love might be a strong word, for them.” 

“Really, let me talk.” Aziraphale points a finger at Crowley until he puts his hands up in surrender and sinks back into the couch. Aziraphale straightens in his chair and rests his hands in his lap.

“I’ve been thinking about us.” 

Crowley does a good impression of someone not choking on their drink. Aziraphale smiles and lets him collect himself. 

“Us, angel?” Crowley croaks once his windpipe is in working order again. 

“Yes, well. Madam Tracy suggested it, actually. She’s planning to make a move on poor Shadwell, and offhandedly suggested, erm, a double date.” 

“When have you been talking to Madam Tracy?” Crowley asks, to buy himself time to process. 

“I called her up to tell her the shop was alright this morning, and thank her for well, letting me hitch a ride.” 

“Ah,” Crowley says, setting his drink down finally. Aziraphale’s hands flex in his lap nervously. 

“I didn’t have the heart to tell her that’s not how things are,” Aziraphale says slowly. Crowley nods, equally slow. 

“It’s not,” He says, voice lilting just enough to almost pose it as a question. Aziraphale’s smile twists into something sad. 

“I mean, it’s an awfully human concept,” He starts. 

“Never stopped us before,” Crowley mumbles. Aziraphale pauses. 

“No, it hasn’t.” 

There are moments in any beings life when they are overcome with the irresistible urge to risk everything just for the chance- the  _ hope _ \- at something they desperately want. Crowley is capable of thought at well, demonically inhuman speeds, and thus flip flops over his following word choice quite a few times before he blurts out two damning words. 

“Should it?”

Aziraphale meets Crowley’s shielded eyes. 

“I rather think it already hasn’t, dear.” He says softly. Aziraphale rises and crosses the crowded back room of the book shop, where they have been drinking leisurely for the past few hours, celebrating their successful part in saving the world. The angel comes to sit gently a few feet from Crowley, turned to face him. He extends a hand halfway. 

“Nggk.” Crowley manages, swallowing six thousand years worth of words. Aziraphale’s hand stays outstretched. 

“I mean, we get lunch quite often, that could easily be called a date, there’s no one on the planet I care for more, no one who knows me better. I’d be quite unopposed if I was to spend the rest of eternity at your side.” Aziraphale says. 

“I,” Crowley says, unclenching his hands. “And the rest of it?” He waves a hand, hoping Aziraphale catches his meaning. 

“Everything that comes with the human's interpretation of love, whatever you’d be comfortable with, I’d happily do with you,” Aziraphale says. “I’d quite like to kiss you unless I’ve misinterpreted something here.” He adds. Crowley turns fully on the couch in a millisecond and bypasses Aziraphale’s hand completely, instead using both hands to cup his face. 

“ _ Angel, _ ” Crowley says reverently. Aziraphale smiles, settling his hand instead on Crowley’s hip. He blinks once, slowly. Crowley shakes his head and takes his glasses off, tossing them to the side carelessly and returning his hands to Aziraphale’s face. He brushes his thumbs over the angel's cheeks. 

“I love you.” They both say in unison. Crowley makes a choked little laugh. Aziraphale cuts it off by bringing a hand to the back of Crowley’s neck and pulling him in, brushing their lips together softly. Crowley melts into him, falling against his chest and kissing him with all the softness he can manage. 

 

A ways from the darkened bookshop, a rather confused bird takes flight back to its nest, duty fulfilled. 

 

Three years later, Aziraphale sits on the back porch and watches the birds. He sips at a cup of tea and enjoys the sun, just coasting past noon now and angled perfectly to warm his skin while not quite being in his eyes. He has a book folded in his lap, set aside momentarily as he squints towards the birdfeeder out in the yard. Two little brown birds squabble over a spot on the feeder, one flying off for a moment before swooping back and knocking the first away. Aziraphale tuts at them, and they both settle on opposite sides to peck at the seeds. Aziraphale smiles to himself and looks away, taking in the rest of the yard. 

The winter was especially chilly and killed off some of the bushes seemingly past repair. Crowley is knelt in front of one of the casualties, poking at the dirt at its base. A pile of trimmings and dead uprooted bushes has been steadily growing behind him, and a pallet of new plants to replace them has been dwindling all morning. 

“Did that one make it?” Aziraphale calls out. Crowley startles a little before twisting around. He’s got his glasses off, is wearing a loose top and ripped jeans, kneeling on a little pad with thick gardening gloves up to his elbows. Aziraphale’s heart does a complicated unnecessary thing in his chest. 

“Nah, sadly.” Crowley pats the bushes dry branches. “You were right, should have thrown a cloth over them.” Crowley sighs and turns back to the bush, digging his fingers in around the base and working at the roots to pull the whole thing up. Aziraphale watches his back, lets himself appreciate the slope of it for a moment, before picking his book back up. One of the birds flits away from the feeder and comes to land on the railing of the porch. Aziraphale studies it over the top of his pages. 

“Ah, I didn’t know nightingales nested around here.” He says after a moment. The bird chirps and hops along the porch. Aziraphale smiles and lets it be. 

 

After another hours work, Crowley deems the garden inadequate state to be left with heavy watering. He miracles the debris into his custom-built compost pile on the side of the cottage, loathe to do the  _ actual _ heavy lifting, and it’s not like anyone’s keeping track. He strips the gloves off and joins Aziraphale on the porch, sidling up behind him and resting his hands gently on the angel’s shoulders. 

“Hello, dear,” Aziraphale says, tilting his head back. Crowley hums and massages his shoulders a little. 

“I was going to try that soup recipe if you’d like to help?” Crowley says softly. Cooking has been a new thing for them, restaurants being a little further away. Neither of them are great cooks by any means but they make do together, and it’s really only Aziraphale who eats much of the meals anyways. 

The angel in question smiles up at his lover and closes his book, setting it on the arm of the porch chair and standing. He crosses around and rests his hands on Crowley’s hips. 

“In a moment,” He says softly. Crowley looks at him, slitted pupils widening slowly. Aziraphale brushes his knuckles over Crowley’s cheek. “I’m sorry your plants didn’t make it.” He says. Crowley shrugs, leaning into his touch. 

“‘S their fault, the new ones will know better,” Crowley replies. Aziraphale kisses him gently, pulling away after a second to watch Crowley’s eyes blink open. 

“I love you.” Aziraphale murmurs. Crowley’s eyes crinkle at the corners. 

“I love you too, angel.” 

**Author's Note:**

> This was fun to write,, soft husbands! please leave kudos/comments they make me so happy


End file.
